


started with a little bit (now i don't know how to quit)

by thedreamsteam



Series: the dream team fics [22]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:56:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27174163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedreamsteam/pseuds/thedreamsteam
Summary: The blood on his hands won’t go away.He’s scrubbed at them for as long as he could remember, scrubbing harder and harder, but every time he dunks his hands in the water and brings them back up, it’s always still red, it’s always still glistening in the night light. The blood is always there, the stench of copper filling his lungs. It’s always there, no matter what he fucking does.or, Dream feels so horrible, but Wilbur comes and finds him
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Wilbur Soot
Series: the dream team fics [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1913893
Comments: 9
Kudos: 236





	started with a little bit (now i don't know how to quit)

**Author's Note:**

> hello!!! so, if you've read my fics before (though why would u, they suck) then you'll recognize this fic and i feel like i should explain kdhfhg
> 
> ok SO: i have no clue if wilbur is uncomfortable with shipping/dreambur, and i haven't been able to find a clear, concise answer on the dreambur thing (specifically, i haven't been able to find smth where he says hes okay with it) so ive decided to delete my dreambur fics and then with this series, change it to just a rlly good friendship!!!!  
> edit: yes ik he’s said he’s okay with shipping but i don’t want it to be like what happened with jschlatt and wilbur okay so until he has said he’s okay with dreambur explicitly, no more dreambur lol
> 
> so i rewrote this entire fic and now there is no kissing only wilbur comforting dream and then smth else <3
> 
> also it sounds the same at first but then the entire fic changes from the og one its fine sdjfhgg
> 
> dedicated to lance and fatima djkfhfh lance is asleep and fatima is studying rn while i rewrote fanfic about minecraft youtubers <3333

The blood on his hands won’t go away.

He’s scrubbed at them for as long as he could remember, scrubbing harder and harder, but every time he dunks his hands in the water and brings them back up, it’s always still red, it’s always still glistening in the night light. The blood is always there, the stench of copper filling his lungs. It’s always there, no matter what he fucking does.

It’s there, coating his hands from the blood of his former friends, from the blood of his former allies. It’s coating his hands from the blood from last week, when Tommy accidentally opened up some stitches and the blood covered Dream’s hands. He had laughed that off, back then, telling him it’s just what happens in wars. It had stained his skin, staying there, and it had stayed, never leaving.

The blood is still on his hands.

His mask is off, has been since he snuck out earlier, leaving it alongside his green hoodie. He’s only in a cloak and a t-shirt, along with the bottom half of his usual outfit. He takes the cloak off, now, throwing it to the side, and it lies in the grass as he stares at his hands, eyes raking over them.

The blood is covering his fingers, caked underneath his nails, but the memories come back every time he looks, every time he accidentally takes a glance. The fight from earlier, the incident with Tommy, the broken wrists, the stab to his side, the wound in his leg, the fight with Sap, the defending of himself, the sitting in a tree with-

Wilbur grabs his hands, startling the younger man out of his thoughts. He yanks them back on impulse, but Wilbur doesn’t let go, only waits for him to stop resisting to gently pull the hands back forward, examining them carefully. He’s so _careful_ , and he could nearly cry at his touch.

It’s in this moment that he finally registers the quietness of the night, the quietness of the bugs near them, the sound of nothing, and he’s nearly started to think about how peaceful it is when Wilbur says his name, the one that only he knows.

“Clay.” He says it softly, as if Dream will break if he says it any louder, as if he’s worried he’ll shatter. “What’s wrong?”

He’s reminded of their childhood, suddenly, the way that Wilbur had asked this exact question some years before, when they were sitting near the edge of a cliff-top, Wilbur swinging his legs off the side while Clay had sat a little bit away from him, his knees pulled up to his chest and little sniffle sounds escaping. 

He hadn’t been wearing a mask yet, hadn’t even come up with a fake name. He was just Clay, and that’s all he was known for.

He had tried to be silent, had tried to hide the noises, not wanting Wilbur to think that he was weak. Wilbur had waited a few minutes, he remembered, and then he had come back, and he had held him, and comforted him, telling him that he would be alright. They had stayed like that, and he couldn’t remember if it had been minutes or hours, but they stayed together, until one had pulled away from the other.

Wilbur had stared at him, and he had stared back, and then they had hugged, tighter than ever.

“I don’t know.” He mumbles now, the tears starting down his face. He doesn’t want to admit to the pain, but now that he stopped and not focused on one thing, everything has come back. It hurts, bad, and he should feel bad about hurting, because he’s been through worse, yeah? This should be a piece of cake.

The pain in his hands develops as the skin hits the cold air, and he hisses, softly, the sound going along with his crying. The pain from the wound in his shoulder, only from the day before, comes back in full force, alongside all of his other minor scratches and bruises. There’s blood on his hands, truly this time, not from his mind, and he can’t help but cry now, overwhelmed.

“Oh, _Clay_ ,” Wilbur says, and he doesn’t know if it’s the way he says it or the way he sounds like he’s worried, but Clay falls into his arms with a cry, his walls broken down at the moment.

He’s too tired to pretend, too hurt to be someone else, to be _Dream_. He’s just Clay, and that’s all he can manage.

He cries in Wilbur’s arms, hands just held over his jacket. He can’t even grip the jacket, the grass, his shirt, anything, because the pain would be unbearable. He can’t grip, because it would scrape against his wounds, hurting him even worse than now. The sobs are louder than he would like, but he can’t quiet down, not now, (it’s too late for that), and so he suffers in Wilbur’s arms, feeling both too much and not enough. 

When they pull apart a few minutes later, (which is really just Wilbur gently pulling him off, wanting to see his face and make sure that he’s okay), his eyes are red and his mouth is closed, the tears still dripping down his face. He knows he looks like a wreck, can see it in the way Wilbur’s mouth softens and and in the way his hands clench onto his arms just that much tighter.

“I’m sorry.” Clay whispers, looking down at the blood-stained grass. It makes him sick, but there’s nowhere else to look, nowhere else to focus his eyes on. It glistens, and he can feel the bile rising in his throat, ready to expel his dinner. He tries to speak, tries to tell him sorry again, but a hand flies up to his mouth, and he turns from the brunette, turning towards the other side.

He heaves, and his hands hurt as he rests them on the grass, they hurt as he rests his entire weight on them as he heaves up nearly nothing, only a little bit coming up, and arms wrap around him, holding him up, and when he collapses, finished, they pull him back. He rests in Wilbur’s lap, and his tears drip down his face as he cries, the blood dripping off of his hand.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” He cries, and Wilbur shushes him, pulling him against his chest. “I’m sorry you have to deal with this, Will. You don’t deserve this, at all. You deserve more. You-you-you-” He cuts himself off, unable to finish his sentence, and Wilbur shakes his head, resting it on Dream’s shoulder.

Dream turns his head and rests it against his, and Wilbur smiles sadly, waiting. He stays with Dream, even as the day gets lighter, staying as his cries get slower and quieter, until he’s silent, the only sounds being his breathing. 

“Oh, Dream,” Wilbur whispers in the silence, shifting the man until he’s in a position where he can pick him up easily (as easily as he can), and he grabs the man’s cloak before he starts the walk, walking as the sun comes up over the trees.

It’s not a far walk, and he arrives at his place with nobody else around, and he’s glad for this, carefully opening his door, and he closes it behind him, locking it before he walks to his bedroom, his footsteps quiet. When he sets Dream down, he does so carefully, and he leaves the room, returning with his bandages quickly, and he kneels beside the bed, and grabs Dream’s hands, carefully.

He bandages them as gently as he can, and once they’re clean and secure, he does a check over Dream’s body, seeing if anything else needed to be changed, and when he finds that nothing else needs to be changed, he cleans up his space and moves everything back. He comes back into his room, and when he looks at Dream, staring only for a moment, he makes a decision, crafting a bed quickly, putting it beside the one Dream’s currently occupying.

It’s an excuse, but he tells himself it’s to keep Dream safe, to make sure he doesn’t injure himself further, but he knows it’s truly because he’s worried, worried about how Dream will react when he wakes up. 

He’s worried about how Dream will move on after all of this, but he knows Dream has the support of nearly the entire server no matter what. Now that he’s shown his true self, exposed his old side, everyone feels a need to protect this man, even though he can easily defend himself. Now that everyone knows the truth (nearly all of the truth), they feel a need to help Dream, and Wilbur can see this easily, from the way that Tubbo and Tommy will hang around the blonde to the way that Fundy will come talk to him even when he’s supposed to be doing something, trying to help distract the man, and even to the way that Eret will come and take him somewhere, and Dream will always come back with a smile on his face and laughing whenever he tells Wilbur that he’s sworn not to tell anyone what they did (and that’s a lie, because he always tells Wilbur eventually, always telling him just as he falls asleep). He knows everyone cares about Dream, and that comforts him.

It’s a soothing thought, really. He doesn’t have to be the only one to protect Dream. He knows everyone else would help without a second thought, without asking any questions. He could just say Dream’s name in a panicked voice and they would jump up and follow without thinking.

This comforts him, and as he changes, he smiles, happy. The thinking soothes him, and when he climbs into the bed beside Dream, that’s what he thinks of as he falls asleep, thinking about how him and Dream aren’t alone, for the first time in years.

It’s nice.

**Author's Note:**

> im on tumblr @thedreamsteam !!!


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